Friday, June 17, 2016

16 things I learned from my dad in 16 years.


In June we honor dads or the men in our children’s lives. This is one of the most important jobs a man can have and the impact of a father on a son or daughter’s life is profound. I had a wonderful father for the first 16 years of my life. His sudden departure from a heart attack left my mom with 5 teenagers, one with special needs (no, not me) and her career was as a piano teacher from home and caring for her big family. It was hard, but we made it and I truly feel that the impact my dad had on us when we were younger helped get us through the really tough times without him. Here’s 16 things I learned from my dad in 16 short years.

11)      I learned that if you want something, work hard for it. My dad always had big dreams and he worked so hard to make his dreams happen.
22)      I learned to work with my hands. One of my dad’s big dreams was to build a log cabin on our property in Coeur d’ Alene. It took over a decade to happen, but in that time we learned to make cement, build footings, frame walls, cut wood and logs, build reinforcement walls, make a plan and the list goes on. He passed away just before it was finished.
33)      I learned to dream big. My dad was a dreamer and he was a visionary. He loved technology (the little that existed back then) and often talked of the future where cars would drive themselves and TV’s would hang on walls.
44)      I learned to appreciate the stars. My dad loved astronomy and he spent many hours looking through a telescope and teaching me about the world outside of our planet.
55)      I learned to listen to people. My dad was a really good listener. He rarely jumped to conclusions and had a true interest in what people had to say. He would come home and go to each of us and ask about our day, then he would listen. What a gift that is especially when a man listens to his daughter and shows interest in her world.
66)      I learned about justice. One time he saw me hit my best friend when I was way beyond the age of it being developmentally appropriate. He came out and told us both to come in and he sat down and made us talk through it. He listened and he meted out justice. I had to apologize, but in the long run, I kept my friend.
77)      I learned about forgiveness. My dad was one of the kindest people I know. He gave people the benefit of the doubt and forgave slights in a way that made him easy to be your friend.
88)      I learned about faith and tradition. We were raised Catholic and no matter where we were we always attended mass. One time he attended in his bright orange bathing suit because we didn’t have time for him to change his clothes and he said, “God doesn’t care, he cares more if I’m not here.” The congregation evidently cared though because the next week in the bulletin it said, “No bathing suits at church please.”
99)      I learned that education is crucial. We lived in Maryland and would drive to our cabin in Northern Idaho every summer. On these trips we drove through Moscow, where both my parents went to college and he would proclaim, “This is where you kids will go to school.” We’d pour out of the car and walk around the gorgeous campus and 3 out of 5 of us did go to school there.
110)   I learned how to drive. My dad LOVED driving a car, in fact he loved cars. He was an engineer that built dams for a living but was passionate about engines and vehicles. We had six vehicles at times which we didn’t realize the neighbors hated until my sister told a friend my dad bought my mom a new car, and she proclaimed, “Is it another junker?”
111)   I learned to take time to travel. My dad took 5 weeks off every summer and we drove out to Idaho, a 2,500 mile trip in a station wagon with 7 people and 2 dogs. My parents made this the best memories of our lives. The getting there was equally as much fun as being there.
112)   I learned the importance of eating dinner together. My dad and mom insisted that we eat dinner together even when we had jobs and homework and school and practice. We still had dinner together almost every night and when he passed away it was the thing I missed most.
113)   I learned to love music. My mom was the official musician yet my dad was a piano player who loved to improvise. He would begin a song and I would recognize it then he’d go off on some tangent and create his own version of it. It was always hard to sing along, but we laughed a lot about it. We all played an instrument and some of my favorite memories are of us as a band.
114)   I learned to hope. In Maryland we rarely had snow. One Christmas Eve I was pretty sad about it and he told me not to lose hope. That night about 1 a.m. he came in and woke me up and took me outside to see snow on the ground. What a gift that moment was. We watched for several minutes and by the morning it was gone. I learned to never give up hope.
115)   I learned to be funny. No one thinks the typical engineer is funny but my dad was funny. He loved jokes, he would do a little jig now and then and he would be silly at times. He teased us often, but never in a way that made us feel less than.
116)   I learned to do my best. When my grades came in and I was upset to show him I’d gotten a C in math (one of his favorite subjects) we had a heart to heart. He asked me if I’d done my best. I responded that I had. He told me that if I put everything I had into that grade then I should be proud of it. I learned too to take pride in my accomplishments even when they fell short of my expectations.


It’s the everyday, simple conversations, examples that are set, moments to remember, that make up a relationship. Dads are super special. They contribute beyond measure to the positive outcomes of their children. It is my hope today that you love on your own dad and the dad or man who is raising your children and recognize him for the incredible gift he is to this world. Happy Father’s Day. 

Wednesday, May 4, 2016

"Mom, did you ever feel loneliness after we were born?"

When my youngest daughter recently asked me about giving birth and how it went, for a class she was taking, I decided to send her an email because I couldn't possibly explain it all by text message. Once the floodgates were open I was shocked to find myself back in those early days of motherhood. 

When I explained each of my three deliveries, how they differed, how they were the same, how I felt, what I wish had been different, etc., she then emailed back, "I can't believe you ate a whole block of cream cheese in one sitting!" and "Did you ever feel loneliness in the first year after we were born?"

It was really hard to write back. 

I never want my children to feel like things might have been "off" in their childhood, however the reality and sticky, messy part of parenting is that it isn't always easy.

What I discovered as I wrote the story of my journey into motherhood is it was harder than I like to remember. It's nature I suppose, how we survive those early years and somehow as time goes on and kids get easier we forget how really hard it all can be.

This is how I replied:

"Yes, I was lonely with our first especially because we moved away from home, to Idaho Falls 1 week after he was born and I didn’t know anyone but your dad who worked a lot. We moved to Salt Lake City when he was 4 months old and there were two ladies there that I’d known from dads work when we lived in Boise, so at least I had them but they weren’t very nice to me. They had kids and they were both overweight as a result and they were just mean about the fact that I wasn't. One of them left out these super tiny curio things all over her house and “taught” her kids not to touch them. Alex didn’t do well at her house.

We also lived near Steve and JoAnn but they didn’t have any kids so we didn’t get together often. I didn’t work outside the home and we were super poor and I could only shop on triple coupon days. I loved being a mom but I was so lonely for family and friends. I’m sure I was depressed looking back. One day JoAnn said that she couldn’t understand why I’d want to be home with a baby. It kind of hurt my heart because I felt like she thought I should be working and that what I was doing wasn't important. When she delivered Lindsay, her first, she called me crying and apologized and said she totally got it now.

I went to the Catholic church hoping to find fellowship and friends. No one ever approached me or talked to me and I was too shy to put myself out there. I thought having a baby with me would help, but it felt more lonely to be with people who I thought should be MY people in the heavily populated Mormon state I lived in but I left disappointed. Your dad didn’t go to church back then so again I felt isolated.

Before he was born I never understood how a parent could be abusive. I had one of those moments when he was about two months old and he wouldn’t stop crying that I looked at our balcony and thought about just tossing him off of it. I started to sob at the thought of it so I put him in his crib and went and took a shower and sobbed for about 30 minutes. I kept thinking that I now understood how bad things can happen and that I was lucky enough to have the capacity to problem solve that moment and do something to take care of myself. When I returned he was sleeping peacefully in his crib. I cried until he woke up and I could hold him again. I never had that again with any of you.

When we moved away from Salt Lake City he was just over a year. I realized I didn’t have anyone to call to say goodbye to. That broke my heart and I promised that I would never let that happen again. When we got to Reno, I joined the Welcome Wagon and became very involved because I recognized I needed a village and I’d gone way too long without one. A year later I was getting a divorce and moving back home."

So yes, I experienced loneliness as a new mother. Which could be part of why I built a village around myself with the other two. A place where I would never be lonely and I could help others who perhaps were, especially other new moms.

Happy mother's day to all moms, new, and old but especially to those experiencing loneliness right now.  




Wednesday, January 13, 2016

Sauerkraut and Christmas

 My grandmother was a Brunner so I suppose she learned young how to make a mean sauerkraut, a richly inexpensive, labor intensive German dish made from cabbage. As a young child my mother gave it a go on occasion, probably as a nod to our German heritage, expecting her five children to love it as much as we oddly enough loved liver and onions.

I don't recall if I was the only one that despised sauerkraut but I do remember having to sit at the table and choke it down because coming from a large Catholic family, if we didn't eat what was put in front of us, we were not given seconds of what we liked and often "strongly encourage" to sit until we finished our plate. I sobbed when we had sauerkraut, I begged when we had it (almost as much as when we had peas and eggplant) but to no avail. I ate the nasty stuff and hated every minute of it.

My mother figured out that it was easier and less stressful to make and serve food we all liked so I spent many a happy years not eating my least favorite food, the dreaded sour-beyond-belief-sauerkraut that tasted like my brothers' socks smelled.

When I first got engaged and we spent 7 days at the future in-laws house for a week during Christmas break from college, I was thrilled. My future mother-in-law was the consummate hostess. She loved having family near. She balanced an ex-husband, a current husband, three kids, her mother, her brother and many beloved friends during the holidays. Their house was the place one wanted to be.

The house was decorated, the cookies were baked, the food was plentiful and we played games every night. The tree was bursting with new gifts and memories in each ornament of years gone by. The fireplace was roaring and everyone ran to the door when someone arrived. It was a place filled with love, laughter, joy and a reason to celebrate how lucky we all were to be under that roof.

The holiday arrived and we all had more gifts than anyone deserved. We had amazing meals and we all watched as Judy conducted the show. The kids ironically talked about how "Mom always blows up during the holidays." and took side bets on which day that would happen. At the time I foolishly thought it was kind of amusing and wondered why it happened but didn't take the time to try to understand why. It would be many years before that piece of the puzzle found it's way to me.

After a week of amazing dinners and late night celebrations on our last day Judy announced we'd be having sauerkraut and sausages for our final meal. I was instantly a 7 year old child who sadly felt it was appropriate to express on several occasions how I felt about sauerkraut. As it slowly simmered on the stove I was relentless in my rudeness about my distaste for it and as I reflect back on my 20 year old self, I am ashamed.

I inwardly cringe when I think about the fact that my rant was the cause of my future Mother-in-laws meltdown that year.

Up to that point I had no idea what her kids had been talking about then I found myself deservedly at the center of it. She blew up. She put me in my place and let me know how ungrateful I was and how hard it is to cook for a house full of people for a week and to make everything perfect and to decorate and have no one help and to stay up late playing games and doing everything possible to make it perfect for her family (deep breath here) and to spend all that money and time and effort and to make a very special family meal (she was born a Freytag) and to have someone be so rude about it.....you get the picture. I'm six feet tall and I felt about three feet tall.

Fast forward 35 years.

I can't help but cry when I take down my decorations. I cry because of the treasured memories encompassed in not only the decor but in the act of taking it all down and reflecting on the season and the many memories of celebrations gone by. I am certain that when my then future MIL took down her decorations that year, it was with a mixture of sadness, anger, happiness, relief and resentment.

After 30 plus years of recreating the story book Christmas for my own young and many family members and friends, with the women in my life; my mother, my MIL and generations of loving women leading families as my example, I now understand.

I show love to my family by making my home, my meals, my time and my presence the present during the holidays. It takes effort. It takes time. It takes money and it takes planning. It takes it's toll, one that my ancestral females all simultaneously suffered from and treasured.

I don't know if there is a local bookie that annually secures my children's bets on when I'll melt down, but from their gentle teasing I know they expect that it might happen. Some traditions just carry on no matter what we do to prevent them.

So while taking down the decor and tucking away the seasons newest memories I'm reminded.

I remember that fateful day that I was the straw that broke the camels back. I'm reminded that my own clan is too young to understand my own experience of the season and that our own sauerkraut moments are bound to happen.

I know with certainty that someday I will pass the baton to one of my unsuspecting daughters or daughter in laws and I will sit back and remember.

I will know that the joy they experience is worth the moments they won't be proud of.

I will know that they do it out of love for the season and for their family.

I will know that they too will cry when they take down the decorations that represent so many decades of memories both to be treasured and carefully tucked away into a space of shame with the promise of doing better next year.

I will know that they will hope for the perfect holiday but that the perfect holiday means someone will likely blow up and that it will most likely be them.

I will know that in 30 years, they will have the grace to gaze lovingly upon their young and know and understand the future baton holders aren't capable of understanding that sauerkraut at Christmas might just be a part of the equation and that it's a dish best served in the warmth of family, love and tradition.